


To the Moon and Back

by kaneki_coffee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ??? like bro its a singing fic okay thats the main thing, College AU, M/M, Singing, alcohol mention, band au, break-up angst, im sorry but the sugamakki is very small and sorta sad but hey i had to make it a thing, matsuhana used to be a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5528282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaneki_coffee/pseuds/kaneki_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa was dancing in place now, his shoes squeaking on the stage floor as he moved, no longer able to contain his excitement. An open grin spread across his face as he slammed out the chorus with a ferocity that left Iwaizumi breathless. He sang fast and hurriedly, pouring his emotion into it, the words tumbling from his mouth as if he didn’t have time to do something as silly as breathe when there was a song to be sung. He slid his microphone back onto the stand and clung to it like it was the only thing keeping him tied to the ground, his lifeline. The guitarists both turned their bodies towards him, flashing quick knowing smiles to each other as their fingers flew to keep up. Oikawa was pushing the tempo, challenging them, but the group was too far in to back down, and they pushed on, in perfect harmony with each other. It was a performance that set the blood aflame and chilled the bone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Moon and Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlackKite7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackKite7/gifts).



> This fic is for the one and only black-kite! You're not only an amazing person and friend, but you're such an inspirational writer and you deserve the world! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know you have the Christmas spirit of a potato, but this is still my present to you!!  
> __________________
> 
> The song Oikawa is singing on stage is actually "Angels on the Moon" by Thriving Ivory. If you listen to it, try it at 1.25x the speed!!
> 
> The other important song is actually what I drew the title from: "To the Moon and Back" by Savage Garden.

_There’s just something about hiding from friends with cheap beer in hand_ , Iwaizumi thought wryly to himself as he shook the red plastic cup in his hand, watching in distaste as the alcohol foam splashed up onto the sides. His throat was burning and dry, but he refused to take another sip. It had tasted metallic, acrid and harsh as it slid down his throat on the very first sip. He hadn’t touched alcohol in almost a year– it was a bad idea to start again now, but that hadn’t stopped him from taking it. He couldn’t deny that he missed the pleasant buzz, the feeling of letting go of his thoughts. Not worrying about the people around him.  
  
On the other hand, Iwaizumi didn’t miss waking up on the bathroom floor reeking of piss and vomit, unsure where he had put his wallet and how much alcohol he had thrown back that night.  
  
He swished the drink once more and cursed under his breath, hunching further into his leather jacket to breathe in the familiar scent of cologne and woodsmoke and maybe forget where he was. He had been ushered into this damn crowded, stifling hot room and handed a cheap drink that was obviously poured straight from a beer can. He didn’t even remember the face of the guy that had thrust the cup into his hand and scampered off to find “Iwaizumi’s friend.” Abandoning his station near the door where he had been left, he fought his way through the dancing crowd to reach the bar, not really knowing what to do with himself.  
  
“Oi, Iwaizumi!” A voice called out over the loud dance music, setting Iwaizumi twisting from side to side to search for the one who called his name. It was hard to make out anything in the flashing lights and the teeming mob that surrounded him.  
  
His eyes flickered over a familiar face and he elected to ignore the small sigh of relief that quieted the flutter of panic in the pit of his stomach. “Matsukawa!” he called, jerking his head up in greeting as his friend spotted him again and began to lope over. He was unusually animated, reaching around Iwaizumi’s back to clap him on the shoulder and hug him from the side. Loud electronic music blasted from the speaker to their left, setting a spark in the crowd around them that caused a chorus of excited shouts and set them all dancing wildly. Matsukawa was obviously already intoxicated, a lazy grin decorating his usually serious face, his body bouncing in time with the music. His face was almost as red as the band tee he wore, and his curly black hair stuck up wildly at different angles. The beer in his free hand splashed out of his plastic cup and onto the floor, just barely missing their shoes.  
  
“Oops,” Matsukawa muttered, stumbling off of Iwaizumi for a moment, only to put his cup down on the bar counter before lurching back into Iwaizumi’s chest with a snicker.  
  
Iwaizumi barely managed to keep his own drink from spilling as he steadied Matsukawa. He heaved his friend’s heavy body into a more upright position and ducked closer. “Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously, yelling directly into his ear.  
  
Matsukawa laughed and pulled away, hooded eyes closing briefly. He clutched his side with one hand, the other firmly holding onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I don’t get drunk,” he slurred, tilting and shaking his head as if laughing at Iwaizumi. “You know that already.”  
  
Iwaizumi shook his head, more to himself than to his friend. Matsukawa was definitely drunk, extremely so, which meant something was up besides his usual pranks. Wasn’t Matsukawa the one with a stomach of steel? Iwaizumi deftly pulled away from his friend to place his cup beside Matsukawa’s, sidestepping the puddle on the floor and offering a forced smile to the smoking bartender who was watching them with a face of disinterest. He thrust his clenched fists into his leather jacket’s pockets, hiding his white knuckles. “You wanna tell me what’s up?”  
  
Matsukawa smirked at him, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “I finally got you to come,” he bragged loudly over the music, triumphant. He shook his head in disbelief, his eyebrow piercing flashing softly from the lights above.  
  
“Well, yeah,” Iwaizumi replied, a frown twitching across his face. “You stole my bed!”  
  
“You finally come after months of begging. Tonight of all nights. I can’t believe you,” Matsukawa laughed, swaying unsteadily where he stood.  
  
Iwaizumi could feel his face flushing red, whether from embarrassment or temperature, he didn’t know. “You _did_ steal my fucking bed!” he repeated hotly. “And left a note saying that it was taken as a hostage!” His voice was already hoarse from yelling over the music, and he allowed annoyance to seep into his tone. The room was too loud and too many colored lights were flickering overhead, making it hard to focus. He wanted to leave, to go outside where it was quieter and easier to breathe.  
  
Matsukawa’s eyes crinkled shut in thought. “Aw, c’mon, Iwaizumi! I only took the mattress. The bedframe's in your closet.”  
  
“I know,” Iwaizumi said darkly, brooding behind the safety of his jacket collar. “Without the screws.”  
  
“Ah,” Matsukawa conceded, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “Yeah, those are in my desk.”  
  
“Matsukawa,” Iwaizumi growled, “Is there a reason you forced me out to this place? Besides to drag your drunken ass back to the dorm? I had plans.” To go to bed early, but that was still a plan.  
  
“Lighten up and enjoy the party!” Matsukawa interrupted, shaking his head and laughing again, a rough bass tone that rumbled from the back of his throat. He slipped his hand around Iwaizumi’s waist to drag him into the pulsing crowd, but Iwaizumi refused to budge.  
  
“You’re being a dick,” he affirmed loudly, firmly pushing away Matsukawa’s roaming hand. “How much have you had to drink?”  
  
Matsukawa shrugged and stumbled back to the bar, snagging his cup and spilling more beer on the floor. He threw his head back and raised the cup of beer to his lips, letting it spill into his open mouth. A trail of alcohol dribbled down his chin and he licked it away as his hand slipped back around Iwaizumi’s waist and tugged him into his personal space. “Why do you care?” he yelled into Iwaizumi’s ear, pausing from his dance just long enough for the words to reach him. “You stopped going to these kinds of parties a long time ago. It’s a miracle you’re even here.” He finished his drink and threw his plastic cup towards an open trash can, watching it miss and bounce off. He shrugged, tilting back to Iwaizumi, his breath smelling foul. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here, I might as well show you the guy.”  
  
“The guy?” Iwaizumi asked, allowing a note of panic to enter his voice as he pulled away abruptly.  
  
“Yes, Iwaizumi, the guy,” Matsukawa laughed, amused. “The one I told you about a month ago. Lead singer of the band? Ring a bell?”  
  
“I thought you said you quit that band,” Iwaizumi questioned suspiciously. “Like, two weeks ago. Why are we going to see them?”  
  
“I did quit. Aren’t I a good friend for dragging you to see them? An amazing friend, even.”  
  
“You’re drunk and it’s weirding me out,” Iwaizumi replied shortly.  
  
“You better appreciate my efforts later,” Matsukawa countered smugly, slinging his arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders.  
  
“Would you just explain what the hell you’re talking about? And tell me why you’re so drunk?” Iwaizumi asked, exasperated.  
  
“Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa groaned in a long, drawn out sigh. “For once, stop caring and chill. Let me take you to him.”  
  
“Who’s him?” Iwaizumi exclaimed in frustration, raising his voice as a cheer erupted from the crowd.  
  
“Shhh!” Matsukawa’s hand leaped to cover Iwaizumi’s mouth. “They’re staging now, just follow me and, please, shut up!” He pulled Iwaizumi into the dancing crowd with his free hand, shoving past people until he finally stood at the front of the stage near the back of the room. The stage lights were brighter, shining directly on the stage so the crowd could actually see the performers.  
  
And what a sight it was. A group of four stood atop the stage, quickly tuning their instruments and flashing small smiles to each other as they warmed up. Iwaizumi recognized the lanky musician squatting at the drum set in the back as Hanamaki, Matsukawa’s boyfriend. His faded red jeans were ripped to pieces, teasing the crowd with flashes of skin in the neon lights, his drumsticks poking out from his back pockets. An overlarge tank top hung loosely off his skinny frame, exposing the watercolor tattoos that splashed randomly across the side of his ribcage, morphing into a geometrical maze of ink as it climbed up his shoulder and down his left arm. He had more tattoos across his collarbone, but Iwaizumi was too far away to see clearly, and he wasn’t about to ask a drunk Matsukawa for an explanation– he had made that mistake when the two had first started seeing each other, and had learned far more about Hanamaki then he would ever need to know.  
  
To Hanamaki’s left was the lead guitarist, playing a few subtle yet complicated chords, loosening up his fingers before the band truly began to play. His unruly black hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, but the way his fingers flew across his instrument suggested he was anything but tired. His golden eyes seemed to smolder like molten fire as he glanced across the crowd, looking for someone, and Iwaizumi noticed the dark, winged curves of perfectly drawn eyeliner. The bedroom eyes hinted at something suggestive, but the prankster smirk tugging at his lips as he spotted the one he was looking for in the crowd reminded Iwaizumi more of Matsukawa and his jokes than anything else.  
  
On the other side of the stage was someone Iwaizumi vaguely recognized from his classes. What was his name? Daichi? He almost didn’t fit in with the other band members, wearing only a loose black v-neck sweater, rolled to his elbows to keep his hands free from the bass guitar resting across his chest. His wide yet steady eyes were tucked beneath a simple black baseball cap lined with orange, and he spent more time staring intently at his guitar than at the crowd.  
  
Matsukawa huffed impatiently, tugging at Iwaizumi’s face with a drunken pull. “Iwaizumi, you’re not even looking at the right one!”  
  
Iwaizumi tugged Matsukawa’s hand away, flashing him a quick glare before directing his glance to the singer standing closest to the mic. The flashing lights above shone against him with a dark blue tint, illuminating him in an unearthly glow. His dark chestnut hair curled against his forehead in an almost perfect arc, falling over his bright eyes in a graceful swoop. The rest of his hair was hidden underneath a black beanie, leaving Iwaizumi to wonder if his hair was naturally curly or styled. His fingers itched with the thought, forcing him to shove them back into his pockets and suppress that train of thought. The tight-fitting hoodie that the singer wore was almost the same shade of blue as the lights above, but it had an iridescent quality to it, changing from blue to purple to a dark gray with every movement. It clung to his delicate shoulders and hip bones, accentuating his lean frame and hinting at the wiry muscle that might be beneath. His shirt underneath spilled out from under the edge of the hoodie, giving him an almost childish appearance, although Iwaizumi guessed the singer had been going for a more careless look.  
  
Whatever it was, it worked.  
  
“Shit,” Iwaizumi muttered to himself, falling hard and quick.  
  
“Shit, indeed,” Matsukawa agreed smugly. “But he’s a pretty shit. I knew you’d like him.”  
  
“ _Shit_ ,” Iwaizumi repeated with greater intensity, eyes drinking in the sight of the singer’s backside– particularly the way his skinny jeans clung to his ass– as he twisted around to hold a thumbs up to Hanamaki, who had finally settled into his seat.  
  
“Just wait until he opens that mouth of his. You never went to any of our practices. Their practices, I mean,” he corrected with a slight frown. “Doesn’t matter, it’s your loss.”  
  
“What’s his name?”  
  
“Oikawa Tooru.” The name rolled off his tongue smoothly.  
  
Iwaizumi mouthed it slowly, not yet allowing the sounds to escape but wanting a taste of his name on his lips. “Shit.”  
  
“You really need to expand your vocabulary,” Matsukawa observed dryly, smirking. “You’ve got starry eyes, love, and your mouth is hanging open. I suggest you close it or fill it.”  
  
“No drinks,” Iwaizumi waved him off without a second thought, paying more attention to the band up front. He was already feeling the buzz of excitement in his head, his heart already pulsing heavily in his throat despite the fact that he had avoided alcohol. He didn’t even mind the crowd anymore, or the lights, or even the loud music that was beginning to fade into silence as the song ended. Despite the fact that there wasn’t a drink to be found in his hand, he was already beginning to get drunk off the sight of _him_. Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru. The name flowed across his tongue like the smoothest wine.  
  
“Shit,” Iwaizumi muttered for the umpteenth time, huddling into his jacket and closing his eyes, breathing through his mouth to avoid the pressing smells of sweat and cheap alcohol. College parties always smelled the same, he managed to think, hoping to draw his mind off of Oikawa Tooru.  
  
It was hard to distract himself from a singer who had a very loud microphone.  
  
“Hello, hello.” The soft purr whispered throughout the large room, giving rise to a cheer from the intoxicated crowd. Iwaizumi could feel the echoes of the voice reverberate in his bones, passing through his body and fading into a comfortable hum of energy. Leaving him feeling empty, alone, and _wanting. Hungry._  
  
He cracked his eyes open and shuffled a step closer to Matsukawa to get a better glimpse of Oikawa. He could see his body curling around his microphone, his head tilting close as if to whisper into a lover’s ear. He was smirking, eyes winking and flashing dangerously in the neon lights. Iwaizumi caught himself smiling slightly in amusement and had to shake his head to clear his face. He knew exactly what Oikawa was doing. The slight lean forward, the tilt of the microphone, the delicate smile– he was performing before he had even begun, and he seemed hell-bent on giving a show. And the crowd ate it up, thriving off his energy.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind if my dear friend Sawamura sings with me,” he called to the crowd, flashing a bright smile in apology as he pointed to the lead guitarist to start them off. The guitarist grinned, adjusted his strap slightly, and began, his fingers dancing slowly across the neck of his guitar. The notes trickled out slowly before speeding up, gaining in momentum and volume. Oikawa’s grin dropped and he bit his lip as he looked down at his feet, unhooking his microphone from the stand and slowly wandering across the stage to stand close to the edge. He stretched his arms slowly across his chest, left over right, microphone dangling carelessly in his grasp, flashing a strip of bare skin as his hoodie rose to reveal his navel.  
  
Iwaizumi stared stonily, keeping his face as blank as possible.  
  
Matsukawa nudged him, keeping his voice low, his eyes never leaving the guitarist. “Pretty good, eh? Watch right now, here’s where loverboy comes in.”  
  
The overhead stage lights flashed brightly as Oikawa Tooru opened his mouth, bathing him in gold and separating him from the others as he tilted his head back and sang. It was unexpected, a startling difference from the dance music that had just been playing. His voice was soft yet full, reaching every note and drawing it out to its full potential, coaxing them to resonate clear and pure across the speakers. It suited him, although the song seemed a bit too quiet for a party setting.  
  
“Wait for it,” Matsukawa whispered, guessing Iwaizumi’s thoughts and smirking again. Iwaizumi elbowed him in the side and shushed him just as Hanamaki began to tap out a light beat, swaying his head and closing his eyes, a content cat-like smile floating to his face.  
  
“Annnnd,” Matsukawa sang softly under his breath, tapping his fingers lightly on his thigh, “Now!”  
  
Hanamaki hit the drums with an intensity that made the crowd burst into yells, cheering the band on again, happy to have something to dance too.  
  
Oikawa soaked it up. He was dancing in place now, his shoes squeaking on the stage floor as he moved, no longer able to contain his excitement. An open grin spread across his face as he slammed out the chorus with a ferocity that left Iwaizumi breathless. He sang fast and hurriedly, pouring his emotion into it, the words tumbling from his mouth as if he didn’t have time to do something as silly as breathe when there was a song to be sung. He slid his microphone back onto the stand and clung to it like it was the only thing keeping him tied to the ground, his lifeline. The guitarists both turned their bodies towards him, flashing quick knowing smiles to each other as their fingers flew to keep up. Oikawa was pushing the tempo, challenging them, but the group was too far in to back down, and they pushed on, in perfect harmony with each other. It was a performance that set the blood aflame and chilled the bone.  
  
Iwaizumi’s knees felt weak and he desperately wished he now had something to do with his hands besides just stuffing them into his pockets and balling them into fists.  
  
The dancing crowd cheered louder when Daichi launched in, adding his deep voice to the fray, providing contrast to Oikawa’s silvery light tone. His voice was rougher, throaty, sounding just a bit unused in the way that it would catch on the lower notes. Together, the two voices weaved in and out, once again leaving Iwaizumi feeling like he was missing something. It was an ache, an empty hole that needed to be filled, but he didn’t even know what it was. It was like a phantom pain in his chest, applying pressure over his heart and squeezing him until he felt like he could barely draw a breath into his lungs, leaving him wheezing and drowning on nothing.  
  
And yet he was fine.  
  
The song ended quickly, and they leaped straight into their next song, but Iwaizumi was done. He turned away, feeling uncomfortable, content to listen but no longer wishing to watch. Matsukawa stood beside him, staring unhappily at the stage, lips pursed tightly in a frown, leaving Iwaizumi once more to wonder what the hell was going on in his head.  
  
“You okay?” Iwaizumi shouted into Matsukawa’s ear, half expecting his friend to dodge the question as he had been all night.  
  
Matsukawa just turned and stared down at Iwaizumi, mouth hanging open as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. “No,” he said finally, rubbing his eyes with a hand. “I’m not. But I will be with another drink.”  
  
“You’re gonna wake up with a killer headache tomorrow morning,” Iwaizumi observed shrewdly.  
  
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Matsukawa replied, turning away and beginning to wade back through the crowd to find the bar. “Find me in an hour. If I’m not passed out drunk, I’ll take you to meet Tooru.”  
  
___________________________________________________________  
  
  
Iwaizumi was sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of ice by himself when the stool beside him squealed in protest as somebody settled onto it. He didn’t look to see who it was, his gaze focused on the back of Matsukawa’s head across the room. Matsukawa was chatting up a girl, and Iwaizumi was having trouble deciding if it was his responsibility to jump in and save his ass, or just let Hanamaki have him later.  
  
The person beside him coughed into his hand.  
  
Iwaizumi sipped his drink, eyebrows knitting in thought. Hanamaki wouldn’t kill Matsukawa, per se, but then again, he had been known to take a joke too far. Iwaizumi had heard stories about the drummer locking his naked roommate outside their dorm after he had broken one of their dorm rules. And he knew how to hold a grudge. The roommate had had to crawl through the window to get in, displaying his ass to the world. Matsukawa had sent him the pictures as proof.  
  
Getting full-blown drunk wasn’t going to be a strong enough excuse against the rage of Matsukawa’s boyfriend.  
  
“Ahem. How’s Mattsun holding up?”  
  
Iwaizumi almost choked on his ice, but he managed to swallow it down without gagging noticeably. His eyes were burning, his lungs were begging for air, he had basically just accidentally committed a form of water torture on himself and _what the hell was that voice doing in his ear._  
  
“Excuse me?” he rasped, coughing into his hand and slamming his cup onto the counter, tilting his head to the side to see the face that matched the voice.  
  
It was different up close. On the stage he had looked almost dangerous, untouchable and confident, his glance promising things that made Iwaizumi’s throat run dry and fingers ache to hold a drink. Sitting a foot away, it looked softer. Rounder. Oikawa Tooru had a pleasant face, Iwaizumi realized with a sinking feeling that had begun the moment Matsukawa had dragged him to the stage. Oikawa’s hazel eyes peered curiously at him through a set of dark-rimmed glasses that he hadn’t worn on stage. His mouth was fixed into a friendly smile, but his chin was set stubbornly, and his gaze kept flicking to rest on Matsukawa’s back.  
  
“I’m Oikawa,” he began patiently, twisting in his seat to offer Iwaizumi his hand. “Oikawa Tooru. I saw you with Mattsun in the crowd while my band performed.”  
  
Iwaizumi winced into his jacket. So he had been seen, even in the crowd.  
  
Oikawa laughed, easily transitioning the untouched handshake into a light comforting touch on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s hard to miss Mattsun in a crowd that size. And I had already guessed that he was going to come and beat himself up, so I was looking. I’m just glad he brought a friend this time.”  
  
Iwaizumi nodded in agreement slowly, still not quite understanding what the conversation was about or where it was headed. His shoulder felt numb where Oikawa had touched him. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he managed, turning his head and making eye contact with the bartender for another glass. Oikawa tapped the counter and held up two fingers, doubling the order with a flashy smile.  
  
“So,” Oikawa said as if getting down to business, a business that Iwaizumi _still_ had no idea what was about. “Mattsun. How is he? He’s not in the band anymore, so it’s hard to see him nowadays, and ever since the break-up, he’s been locking himself in your guys’ room. He refuses to answer his phone, too.”  
  
Iwaizumi frowned and threw back the rest of his water, glancing to Oikawa quizzically. “What break-up?”  
  
Oikawa’s smile faltered, his eyes searching Iwaizumi’s face. “You can’t really be serious, right? Aren’t you Mattsun’s best friend?”  
  
Iwaizumi snorted. “That position is reserved for Hanamaki, I’m afraid. He demoted me a long time ago.”  
  
“Hmm.” Oikawa drummed his fingers against the counter, biting his lip. “You’re...you’re very out of the loop, aren’t you, Iwaizumi Hajime? You seriously hadn’t noticed...anything?” he whistled. “Wow. I don’t think it’s my really my place to say anything, but since Mattsun seems to be enjoying this angst-fest far too much, I need to intervene. Makki and Mattsun haven’t…been together for almost two weeks. Makki broke it off.”  
  
Iwaizumi opened his mouth to interrupt, but Oikawa pressed on, holding up his hands in defense. “I’m fuzzy on those details. The point of this is, my band is falling apart because I no longer have a permanent bass guitar, and Makki is too busy with his new boyfriend to come to practices.” He paused, and huffed. “That’s a bit harsh,” he amended. “I’m not trying to judge Makki or why they broke it off. But I’m worried about Mattsun. He isn’t taking it well.”  
  
They both turned and stared at Matsukawa, who was now alone and crushing his empty cup with an iron grip.  
  
“At all,” Oikawa added lightly.  
  
The bartender came back with a pitcher of ice, sliding it between the two of them wordlessly. Iwaizumi seemed frozen in place, processing slowly as he pieced together the string of hints he had picked up on throughout the past week. The empty fridge. The dirty clothes strewn across the floor. Matsukawa’s new and erratic sleeping habits– it all made sense and Iwaizumi was a fucking idiot and a terrible excuse of a best friend.  
  
“Shit,” he cursed angrily, pounding his fist on his thigh. “Shit.”  
  
Oikawa poured himself a glass of water and refilled Iwaizumi’s, pursing his lips in thought. “Yes, that’s sort of where my thoughts were straying as well. Which is why I have a plan, but I sort of need your help.”  
  
“What’s your plan?” Iwaizumi asked warily.  
  
Oikawa beamed brightly, a Cheshire cat smile that immediately put Iwaizumi on guard. “Well. First, we kidnap him.”

  
________________________________________________________________

  
  
“This is a terrible plan,” Iwaizumi hissed for the tenth time into Oikawa’s ear as they inched around the edge of the massive dancing crowd.  
  
“Oh, like you had a better one?” Oikawa shot back fiercely, flashing him a haughty glare and grabbing his hand. “It’ll work perfectly, stop worrying. And don’t get lost in the crowd, Iwa-chan.”  
  
Iwaizumi reared back, but Oikawa’s grip was unforgiving and he refused to let go. “Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi exclaimed. “What kind of shitty nickname is that?”  
  
“A great one,” Oikawa whistled gleefully, pulling Iwaizumi into the crowd.  
  
Iwaizumi didn’t have the time to respond– he was too busy fending off drunk dancers and protecting his feet from getting trampled. He felt himself get tugged into the heart of the crowd, trusting that Oikawa knew where he was leading them.  
  
“There he is,” Oikawa called back to Iwaizumi, releasing his hand and grinning conspiringly like they shared the greatest secret in the world. It pulled at Iwaizumi’s heart strings in ways he refused to mention, and he decided to use his now-empty hand to unzip his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders in a few tugs, revealing the sleeveless metal band tee he had pulled on that morning without thinking very much about it.  
  
If Oikawa’s eyes lingered on Iwaizumi’s bare shoulders a bit longer than needed, neither commented.  
  
“He’s over there,” Oikawa said, pointing to the large figure of an oblivious Matsukawa a few feet away.  
  
“Are we seriously doing this?” Iwaizumi muttered to himself, his feet dragging as if he was walking in mud.  
  
Oikawa pushed him forward, hands splayed across Iwaizumi’s back, fingertips lightly brushing against Iwaizumi’s bare skin and sending a shiver down his spine. “You can do it, Iwa-chan!” he cheered into his ear, acting familiar already and causing Iwaizumi’s cheeks to begin to burn. God, why did he feel so drunk when he was near him? It was even worse in closer proximity.  
  
“This is stupid,” Iwaizumi grumbled, slinking forward reluctantly, face turning redder, raising his heavy leather jacket in front of him. “You’re stupid. He’s gonna see us, dumbass.”  
  
“Now who’s making bad nicknames,” Oikawa pouted, leaning into Iwaizumi’s back, obviously enjoying his discomfort. The ass. “Do it now!” He shoved Iwaizumi forward with a snicker.  
  
Iwaizumi panicked, not expecting to be shoved, but he still managed to fling his jacket over Matsukawa’s head. Matsukawa lurched in surprise, and Oikawa took the opportunity to stick his foot out and trip him, kicking his feet out from under him. Iwaizumi lunged forward and caught him, muscles straining and panting in exertion. “Shit,” he muttered, heaving his friend onto his back.  
  
“Fuck!” Matsukawa yelled, throwing off Iwaizumi’s jacket and holding his head, blinking his hooded eyes owlishly. “Dammit, Iwaizumi, what the hell are you doing?”  
  
Oikawa popped into his view and waved impishly, confident he had full control of the situation. “This is an intervention, Mattsun. I have seduced Iwa-chan to join my side–”  
  
“–Seduced? Seduced, my ass. And just who set that up?” Matsukawa blurted indignantly. “I did! You don’t get to turn that against me, traitor! You wanted to meet him and I brought him to you! Screw your intervention bullshit! Go be a happy couple and let me live!”  
  
Oikawa’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide in alarm and flicking from Iwaizumi to Matsukawa and back. “Mattsun, you’re very, very drunk. Like, very drunk.”  
  
“I know I am!” Mattsun exclaimed, deflating. “I’m also tired, and Iwaizumi smells good.” He rested his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, sighing and breathing deeply before closing his eyes. “Now put me down,” he muttered, but he wrapped his long arms around Iwaizumi’s chest and relaxed into him like a cat.  
  
Iwaizumi breathed through his nose, tilting his face away from his friend. Dear god, he stank. “Can you show me the way out?” he offered, keeping his eyes latched determinedly on Oikawa’s shoes, feeling very out of place. “I can just carry him back to our dorm.” He didn’t really know what to do with the little tidbit of information about Oikawa he had heard, nor how he was meant to react, so he made a snap decision to ignore it. For the moment, anyway.  
  
Oikawa seemed relieved and motioned Iwaizumi over. His hands fluttered as if he meant to grab him and lead him away again, but he didn’t. His cheeks were tinted a light pink, but that might’ve just been the lighting. “Kuroo’s this way, he’s got a room in the back set up already.” He set off determinedly, not looking back to see if Iwaizumi followed, although he did pause to snag the leather jacket from the ground. “Hurry up, Iwa-chan~,” he called over his shoulder, although the lighthearted tone sounded tight, almost forced. Iwaizumi didn’t comment, plodding after him silently.  
  
________________________________________________________________

  
“This is stupid,” Matsukawa called from behind the shower curtain, voice just loud enough to be heard over the hiss of running water. “I hope you know that when the world stops spinning, I will embarrass you both so much that you two won’t be able to walk in public ever again.”  
  
Iwaizumi and Oikawa shared a glance, both sitting on the bathroom floor, guarding the door and preventing Matsukawa from leaving. Oikawa was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, smiling smugly. He was wearing Iwaizumi’s jacket over his hoodie, satisfied with himself despite the fact there were three grown men in the same bathroom, one stark naked. Iwaizumi was sitting on a folded pile of Matsukawa’s clothes, one leg propped up, his elbow resting on his knee, the other leg stretched out until his foot was just barely brushing against Oikawa’s knee. The bathroom was small and the toilet took up most of the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just snug.  
  
“That’s okay, Mattsun,” Oikawa said. “We’re already seen with you, aren’t we? Can’t get much worse than that.”  
  
“I hate you,” Matsukawa replied tiredly. A heavy thump came from behind the curtain as if he had pounded his head against the wall in exasperation. “Do I have permission to come out, or do I have to flash my goods to both of you?”  
  
“Depends,” Oikawa sang. “What did we learn?”  
  
“I learned that you’re too good at ripping people’s clothes off,” Matsukawa threw back. “And Iwaizumi enjoyed watching too much.”  
  
Iwaizumi choked back a laugh, watching Oikawa’s jaw drop in outrage.  
  
“Mattsun!”  
  
“I’m coming out,” he threatened, turning off the shower. “Give me back my clothes, or I’ll throw up on you.”  
  
Iwaizumi heaved himself up, placing the wrinkled clothes on the sink counter. “They’re on the sink. We’ll be outside if you need us.”  
  
“And brush your teeth!” Oikawa added quickly, scrambling to his feet. “There’s a new toothbrush under the sink. Please use it.”  
  
“Get out or I’ll breathe on you,” Matsukawa threatened.  
  
“Going,” Iwaizumi and Oikawa both responded quickly, leaving the bathroom quickly and shutting the door with a click. They could hear Matsukawa grumbling to himself through the door as he toweled off.  
  
The two stood quietly for a series of seconds before Oikawa clapped his hands. “I’m gonna make him something to eat,” he announced, striding to a small kitchen that was to their left. “He loves my food, it’ll make him feel better.”  
  
Iwaizumi trailed after him, hands in his back pockets. “What are you going to make?”  
  
“Oatmeal. It’s the only thing I can make.”  
  
Iwaizumi stared in disbelief, a small smile tugging at his lips that he wiped away as Oikawa glanced up. “Oatmeal?” he asked. “That’s all you can make?” That was…unexpectedly cute. And also really lame.  
  
“Oh, shut up, Iwa-chan, like you can do better,” Oikawa pouted, twisting to stick his tongue out, his arms propped on his hips.  
  
“I can, actually,” Iwaizumi smirked, sliding past him to enter the kitchen area. “Matsukawa and I rotate chores, including making meals. I had to teach myself or suffer from his cooking.”  
  
“Well, by all means, make him some better oatmeal than me,” Oikawa surrendered, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ll make a bed on the couch for him.”  
  
“I’m not making him damn oatmeal,” Iwaizumi said, rolling his eyes but fighting a smile. “He can have soup like any normal person.”  
  
By the time Matsukawa exited the bathroom, Iwaizumi had a steaming bowl of soup on the table and Oikawa was lounging on the makeshift bed he had made. Matsukawa glanced between the two of them and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling sadly as he walked to the table.  
  
“What are you, my parents?”  
  
“We’re your friends,” Iwaizumi corrected firmly, pulling out the chair and helping Matsukawa sit down. “And we care about you.” He sat down in the chair across from his friend, his hands on the table fidgeting. He was bad with this kind of stuff.  
  
“It’s intervention time, and I’m calling it ‘Project: Get Mattsun off the Train of Self Destruction’,” Oikawa declared from the couch.  
  
“Sounds pretty wild,” Matsukawa replied blandly.  
  
Oikawa sighed, dropping his playful act. “Mattsun, you don’t need to shut us out,” he called softly. His eyes were filled with sympathy, and Matsukawa looked away. “We want to help. You can talk to us.”  
  
Matsukawa stared at his food and smiled bitterly. “Are you gonna tag team me now? How long have you two known each other, an hour?” He shook his head. “I knew introducing you two was a bad idea. You’re fucking made for each other.”  
  
Iwaizumi ignored the last comment, repeating softly what Oikawa had said. “We want to help you.”  
  
“Dammit, Hajime, I know that. Or else, I tell myself that. But I…I don’t know what you want me to say. There isn’t anything to say.”  
  
“You can say it hurts.”  
  
The bowl of soup was pushed away violently, making them jump. Matsukawa hid his face in his hands, his body shuddering. “Fuck that. It doesn’t hurt, it burns. It aches so fucking much and there’s nothing that I can say or think or do to fix that. I loved him so much and I thought he felt the same. No, fuck that, I know he did.” He glanced up at Iwaizumi helplessly, eyes red and tears streaking his face. “We were best friends,” he whispered brokenly, wrenching Iwaizumi’s heart. “Now he doesn’t even look at me. And I don’t even know what I did. He fucking dropped me at a train station and left my life entirely. Like it was easy. It’s been two weeks and I can’t move on and he’s still so fucking _happy_.” Matsukawa’s sobs began to shake his entire body.  
  
Oikawa appeared like magic at his arm, crouching beside him and rubbing his back soothingly, murmuring soft words, much to Iwaizumi’s relief. “You don’t have to beat yourself up about it, Issei. You didn’t do anything wrong. ”  
  
“Then why does it feel like I did?” Matsukawa’s voice caught in his throat.  
  
What was Iwaizumi supposed to say to that? He was filled with so many warring emotions and he didn’t know which to appeal to. He shoved his chair back and stepped to Matsukawa’s other side, carefully brushing Matsukawa’s wet hair off his forehead and carefully hugging him from the side. “You didn’t have to carry this on your own. I know that sometimes I’m an ass, but I’m always here for you. Always.”  
  
“I want to hate him but I can’t,” Matsukawa said dully, staring at the table as tears started to fall faster and his words began to rush out like a dam was broken and it all had to come out at once. “I want to hate them both. Takahiro and that guy, Sugawara. But do you know how hard it is to hate someone you’ve loved your entire life? Turns out that it’s impossible. At least for me. So I tried to forget about it, but it’s hard to forget when you can’t sleep, and all you do at night is stare at the ceiling and remember how he felt in your arms. How he always fell asleep curled against your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist like you were his giant fucking teddy bear.” His voice cracked. “He always shoved his cold feet between my legs and said I was the hottest person he ever met, you know? He used to wear all my clothes, even though they were all too big and he looked like a fucking kid. This morning, there was a box in front of the dorm room. I opened it up, and it was all of the things he had slowly stolen over the years. My clothes, my movies, a camera full of pictures of us. He didn’t even leave a note. Didn’t even stay to see if I got it. Everything smelled like him and I just can’t fucking handle anything anymore. My life is falling apart in front of my eyes, and I can’t put it back together again because he was always there before. We’ve known each other forever, we’ve done so much together, and now he’s gone, and he’s fine and I’m not _and it hurts so much.”_  
  
Oikawa and Iwaizumi both stared at each other over his head, eyes wide in fear and shock. Well. This intervention wasn’t going anything like they had planned, and they needed a new strategy.  
  
“I think I’m going to be sick now,” Matsukawa hiccuped mournfully, shoving his chair back and throwing up on the floor, gagging on the taste of all the alcohol he had consumed that night.  
  
Iwaizumi rubbed his back in tight, small circles, a worried look on his face but his lips pressed into a firm line.  
  
Oikawa slipped out of Iwaizumi’s jacket and hung it over Matsukawa’s shoulders, helping him pull his shaking arms through and once again soothing him with quiet sounds as if he was an injured animal.  
  
“This blows,” Matsukawa sniffed. “I’m ruining my reputation.”  
  
“It’s not like you had much of one anyways,” Oikawa replied softly, offering a small smile as Matsukawa looked up sharply.  
  
“I can’t believe you’re teasing me at a time like this,” Matsukawa laughed, but the joking seemed to help slow his tears. “Talk about a low blow.”  
  
“It’s out of love,” Oikawa said simply, hugging him.  
  
Iwaizumi watched quietly and waited until Oikawa drew away before he hefted Matsukawa out of his chair and began to carry him to the couch like it was nothing. “C’mon, ya big lug. You need some sleep, and when you wake up, you can put something in your stomach and see if it stays put.”  
  
“Aren’t we still at the club?” Matsukawa asked quietly, his voice small and childlike. “Shouldn’t we go home?”  
  
Home was a very bad place to be, Iwaizumi thought to himself. Hanamaki had slept over far too much for it to do anything but stir up memories better left forgotten tonight.  
  
Luckily, Oikawa saved Iwaizumi with a quick response. “The bartender’s the owner of the place, and Sawamura knows him. We’re allowed to use the room for however long we need.” He watched Iwaizumi lay Matsukawa on the couch and stepped forward to tuck him in, kissing his forehead gently. “We’ll stay with you, don’t worry. You can sleep safely.”  
  
“I’m going to wake up with such a massive headache,” Matsukawa groaned, snuggling into the couch’s cushion and closing his eyes. “Oikawa?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m sorry I quit the band.”  
  
Oikawa turned away so Matsukawa couldn’t see his face, his heart visibly breaking and a tear escaping his eye. He wiped it away quickly, but Iwaizumi had noticed. He felt uncomfortable, like this was a private moment between the two of them.  
  
“It’s not your fault, Issei,” Oikawa assured. “Just go ahead and sleep now.” He sat on the floor beside the couch, his elbow resting on the cushion near Matsukawa’s face. He began to hum, almost aimlessly, filling the silence with his quiet voice until Iwaizumi managed to pick out the song. It had been around the third song their band had performed earlier that night, but without the heavy instruments it sounded much more calm and gentle, almost like a lullaby. Iwaizumi quietly sat beside Oikawa and listened, tucking the song into his head to remember later, watching him lull Matsukawa to sleep, his pained face finally relaxing.  
  
After a few minutes, Oikawa nudged Iwaizumi and jerked his head to the door, silently getting the message across that they should step outside. Iwaizumi nodded and stood up, reaching his hand out and helping Oikawa to his feet without even thinking about it. He led them from the room and into the hallway, leaving the door open a crack so they could still see the sleeping figure on the couch.  
  
“Well,” Oikawa whispered, deflating and sliding against the wall until his butt hit the floor. “That didn’t go anything like my plan.”  
  
“I told you it sucked.” Iwaizumi sat beside him, running his hands through his short hair and sighing. “I guess it still worked, though. He seemed a bit better. Just tired.”  
  
“And sick,” Oikawa added, glancing through the door to look at the floor they still had not cleaned. “The owner’s gonna kill me.”  
  
Iwaizumi cracked a smile. “That’s all you’re worried about?”  
  
“No,” Oikawa said, tapping the rim of his glasses thoughtfully. “I’m worried about him, still. And you.”  
  
“Me?” Iwaizumi asked, surprised.  
  
“Well, not exactly you,” Oikawa amended. “But what you might do. If you see Makki. I saw your face in there.”  
  
“I can say the same to you. I saw your face in there too, and you see Hanamaki more than I do.”  
  
Oikawa stared at the floor, drawing his knees to his chest and biting his lip– Iwaizumi guessed it was a habit of his. “I’m not sure what I’ll do,” he confessed quietly. “I need some time to think. We all do, Mattsun most of all.”  
  
“Someone’s gonna have to stay with him until he recovers.”  
  
“Guess we’re stuck on babysitting duty,” Oikawa said with a heavy sigh, but his eyes were still bright with worry and Iwaizumi guessed that he wouldn’t leave Matsukawa’s side until he knew he was better.  
  
“I’m glad he’s got a friend like you,” Iwaizumi said abruptly.  
  
Oikawa looked startled, and he laughed to hide his surprise. “Why, you wanted to meet someone hot?” he teased.  
  
“No, dumbass.” Iwaizumi glanced at him, reaching out and taking his hand hesitantly. He lightly ran his thumb over Oikawa’s knuckles before he drew away. “You’re a decent guy.”  
  
“Iwa-chan, you’re making me swoon.” Oikawa fanned his face and batted his eyes.  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Iwaizumi grumbled, feeling his cheeks burn as he glared at the wall in front of them and listened to Matsukawa’s quiet snores. “You’re still a dumbass.”  
  
________________________________________________________________

  
  
**[three months later]**  
  
“Iwa-chan, tell Mattsun to stop picking on me!” Oikawa wailed loudly, flailing to escape Mattsun, who had him pinned to the carpeted floor.  
  
Iwaizumi walked into the living room of Oikawa’s apartment, a bowl of freshly made popcorn in hand and a bored expression on his face as he stared at the human pretzel in front of him. “Tell him yourself, dumbass,” he said in a monotone voice, stepping over them and dropping onto the couch.  
  
“Your royal highness,” Matsukawa droned, “May I offer you a footrest for your weary feet?” He grinned lazily and twisted into a new position, offering the back of Oikawa’s head to Iwaizumi.  
  
“Iwa-chan, if you place your smelly feet on my head, I will never forgive you,” Oikawa threatened, wiggling to escape Matsukawa’s iron grasp.  
  
Iwaizumi propped his feet up on Oikawa’s head without even sparing a glance to them. He reached for the remote and flicked on the TV, tossing some popcorn into his mouth.  
  
“You’re dead to me,” Oikawa promised, shoving Matsukawa’s heavy body off and lurching away, glaring at both of them darkly.  
  
Matsukawa landed on the floor with a thump and sighed, throwing his hand over his face. “You always beat me up, Tooru. I’m crying.”  
  
“No, you’re not.”  
  
“I am on the inside.”  
  
“Are not.”  
  
“Am too.”  
  
“Are not–“  
  
“Will you two shut up and watch the movie?” Iwaizumi asked in exasperation, pelting them both with popcorn kernels. “It’s starting.” He had learned very early on that the two of them could argue and tease each other for hours over the smallest things, and he didn’t want to sit through another battle of immature bickering.  
  
Oikawa slunk to the couch, moping as he curled against Iwaizumi’s chest. “You never defend my honor, Iwa-chan.”  
  
“You never had any in the first place,” Iwaizumi threw back.  
  
“I love it when you two fight,” Matsukawa smirked, throwing himself to Iwaizumi’s other side and sprawling out in the empty space of the couch. He kicked his feet out to rest on Iwaizumi’s lap, almost sending the popcorn bowl flying. “It’s adorable.”  
  
“Iwa-chan, I’m done babysitting,” Oikawa grouched, shooting a glare across the couch and shoving Matsukawa’s feet off Iwaizumi’s lap. “He can go home now.”  
  
“Mm,” Iwaizumi grunted, not paying attention to either of them. Matsukawa stuck his tongue out, teasing Oikawa before they both settled down and watched the movie quietly, comfortable all together in the darkness of the living room. By the time it ended, Matsukawa was snoring loudly.  
  
Oikawa peered over Iwaizumi’s rising chest, glancing at the sleeping figure. “He’s knocked out,” he observed shrewdly. “I don’t think he was awake for the last half. We’re gonna have to rewatch for him.”  
  
Iwaizumi pulled his arm out from behind Oikawa and stood, yawning and stretching his body. “I’ll get him a blanket,” he said, walking to Oikawa’s bedroom. “It’s better to just let him sleep.”  
  
“Is he still having trouble sleeping?” Oikawa asked, worried.  
  
Iwaizumi knew the question Oikawa was really asking. “He’s doing a lot better,” he called from the other room. “He even seems interested in someone else. They exchanged numbers last week, they’ve been texting daily. I told him that he had to bring them to meet us before he was allowed to start dating.” He walked back into the room with a quilt in hand, decorated with green alien heads and UFO’s, and tossed it over Matsukawa’s limp body, tucking him in gently.  
  
Oikawa watched and sighed, peeling himself off the couch and nudging the empty popcorn bowl on the floor with a pointed toe. “I should do the dishes,” he said with disinterest. “You guys eat way too much. It’s like I fed a pack of wolves.”  
  
Iwaizumi let out a laugh and wrapped his arms around Oikawa’s shoulders, tucking his head into the crook of the other’s long, slender neck. “I’m actually sort of proud of you,” he admitted, breath hot on Oikawa’s skin. “The food came out…sorta good.”  
  
“Why do you sound surprised?” Oikawa exclaimed haughtily, tilting his head down so he could see Iwaizumi’s face. “I’m good at everything I try.”  
  
“Shush,” Iwaizumi laughed quietly, pulling them out of the living room. “You’re gonna wake him up.”  
  
“Already did,” the deep voice confirmed from the couch.  
  
“Go back to sleep,” Oikawa remarked, not pulling away from the embrace. “We’re in the middle of something.”  
  
“Fine,” Matsukawa huffed, rolling over and pulling the blanket over his head. “Do it quieter. And in the other room.”  
  
“G’night,” Oikawa called as Iwaizumi pulled them into his bedroom, stumbling into the doorframe as Iwaizumi began to kiss his neck roughly.  
  
“No sex!” Matsukawa yelled back.  
  
“No promises,” they returned together.  
  
“Disgusting,” came the reply, causing Iwaizumi to laugh as he pushed Oikawa past the threshold and followed quickly after, kicking the door closed with his foot. He picked up Oikawa easily, letting the other wrap his legs around his waist as he walked towards the bed in the corner of the room, easily dodging the piles of discarded clothes that littered the floor.  
  
“You know,” Oikawa murmured as they sat on his bed, rustling the sheets and causing the mattress to creak under their combined weight as Oikawa shifted to sit atop Iwaizumi’s lap. “We don’t really talk about the night we met.”  
  
Iwaizumi unzipped the leather jacket that Oikawa wore, sliding it off his arms carefully and dropping it to the floor. “I guess we don’t. Why bring it up?” He began to run his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, brushing back the natural curl from Oikawa’s forehead that hid his arched brows.  
  
Oikawa shrugged, resting his arms on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, turning his head like a cat so Iwaizumi could reach another spot. “I was just thinking that I sort of…owe Matsukawa for introducing us.”  
  
Iwaizumi pulled away, making a face. “Don’t tell _him_ that. He’ll hold it over our heads for the next year.”  
  
Oikawa laughed lightly, letting his hands roam underneath Iwaizumi’s shirt carelessly, tracing invisible patterns with the tips of his fingers. It made Iwaizumi’s skin turn to fire, and he suppressed a shudder of excitement. “It was just a thought,” Oikawa said. “But, it makes me wonder. Do you remember anything from that night?”  
  
“A bit,” Iwaizumi lied. He leaned forward, his hands sliding to cup the back of Oikawa’s and draw him closer. He began to kiss his jawline lightly, working his way up until he was staring into bright hazel eyes that saw right through him. Of course he remembered that night.  
  
“Hajime, sing for me.”  
  
Iwaizumi frowned at the abrupt request, hands dropping to rest on Oikawa’s shoulders. “You’re the singer,” he replied blandly.  
  
Oikawa pouted, leaning forward to press his forehead against the other’s, his hands pressing on either side of Iwaizumi’s face. “Please?”  
  
“Fine,” he finally huffed after a moment of pleading silence. Dammit, Oikawa knew he was weak to the damn pouting face. “I don’t know what you want to hear though.”  
  
Oikawa smiled brightly, lacing his fingers behind Iwaizumi’s head. “Anything,” he said as happily as a child in a candy store.  
  
Iwaizumi was silent for a few more moments, his cheeks turning pink before he slowly began to sing into Oikawa’s ear. His voice was rough, rising from his stomach and sending chills down Oikawa’s spine as he felt the reverberations of the quiet singing pass through him. Iwaizumi’s voice was naturally deep, but his singing was a few pitches higher, soft and crooning as he sang the song that he remembered Oikawa had hummed to send Matsukawa to sleep the night they had met. His eyes remained locked on Oikawa’s chin, determined not to look at his eyes or else die from embarrassment.  
  
When his gaze did flicker up, he was shocked. “Tooru?” He exclaimed, his hands immediately flying to Oikawa’s face to wipe away the tears that were spilling from his eyes.  
  
“Stupid Hajime,” Oikawa muttered, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. “Using my own song against me. I can’t believe you did that.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi apologized helplessly, his hands hovering over Oikawa’s, not knowing exactly what he did or how to fix it. “I thought it was a nice song. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It is a nice song,” Oikawa said, rolling his eyes and snorting. “I wrote that. For you.”  
  
“What?” Iwaizumi asked, confused.  
  
“I told you, I owe Mattsun,” Oikawa said between sniffs, eyes shifting to glance away as he reluctantly explained. “I saw you before we met. A few months before, actually. You were taking Mattsun to a band practice or something and I saw you, and then I heard your voice, and then I heard you teasing him and do I really need to keep going, I’m fucking crying already, Hajime, I swear.”  
  
Iwaizumi’s shoulders began to shake with laughter and Oikawa wailed.  
  
“No, Hajime, stop laughing at me!”  
  
“You wrote a song about me,” Iwaizumi said, amazed. “Before you even met me. Do you know how that makes you sound?”  
  
“Stop teasing me!” Oikawa pouted, biting his lip.  
  
Iwaizumi couldn’t control himself anymore. He pulled Oikawa closer and pressed his lips firmly on his mouth in one quick fluid movement, his hands holding the other in place as Oikawa closed his eyes and melted into the kiss, fireworks flashing behind his eyelids. When they drew apart they were panting heavily, Oikawa feeling his swollen lips with a finger, Iwaizumi’s fingers digging into his thigh as he tried to get ahold of himself.  
  
“Hajime–“ Oikawa began breathlessly, but he jumped in alarm when a knock came on the door.  
  
“Can you children _please_ be quiet in there?” Matsukawa asked through the door, his typically sarcastic voice now begging helplessly. “I’m still here! I don’t need to be traumatized any more than I have been in the past ten minutes! You guys are super embarrassing! You need a damn chaperone, and I need earplugs.”  
  
Oikawa groaned as they listened to Matsukawa stomp back to the couch, his head falling to rest on Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “I liked Issei better drunk,” he confided into Iwaizumi’s neck. “Now he’s just a damn cockblock.”  
  
Iwaizumi let out a surprised bark of laughter and shifted to embrace Oikawa’s slim body with an arm, smiling up at the ceiling that was littered with glow in the dark stickers of stars and planets. “What were you going to say?” he asked curiously, voice soft.  
  
Oikawa raised his head to look into Iwaizumi’s eyes. “I love you,” he said simply, snuggling back against Iwaizumi’s chest with a content sigh.  
  
Iwaizumi felt his body burn with warmth, his heart beating in his throat. He kissed the top of Oikawa’s head lightly and bit his lip as he drew away, a habit he had picked up from watching him. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @shironekki  
> tumblr: kaneki-coffee


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